


a neverending limbo

by ryles (nexiliss)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Clones, Heavy Angst, Post-War, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:55:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nexiliss/pseuds/ryles
Summary: "I am your sanity, cracked and split down the middle. I am part of you; therefore, everything I've done, you have commanded."Wilbur wants to scream.-----In which Wilbur must face his mistakes in the form of a man that wears his face.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	a neverending limbo

Death is the ultimate equalizer.

Wilbur knows this much as he opens his eyes for the first time since they were carefully slid shut by his father’s shaking fingers. He stands alone in an empty grey plane, nothingness stretches as far as his dull eyes can see. His hands move quickly, fingers gripping at the soft beige wool of his sweater and he sighs, breath materializing in front of him before it dissipates. 

He opens his mouth and attempts to speak but can’t seem to summon the words. What is even out here for him to communicate with? He pushes on and manages to utter a single question past his frosted lips to the cold, empty air.

“Where am I?”

As if on cue, a thin, blurry portal opens up in a space between all the nothingness. Wilbur watches a man step out, his long legs adorned with sleek black pants, his tattered trench coat billowing out behind him as the portal closes with a soft _whoosh_. The man’s face is obscured as he keeps his head down, dark brown hair mostly covered with a grey beanie. He takes slow, calculating steps towards Wilbur.

“Hello,” he says. His voice sounds empty, devoid of any and all emotion. “I suppose it’s time for a chat; shall we?”

The man gestures to two, red cushioned chairs and a small table that seemed to appear from nowhere. Two small white mugs of steaming tea rattle gently as the man’s foot catches on one of the table legs as he sits down. Wilbur stays standing, utterly perplexed by the situation, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

The man scoffs. “Don’t just stand there looking like a deranged fish. Go on, have a seat.”

Wilbur breaks from his daze and hurries to sit down. As he settles in, the mug of tea slowly bringing feeling to his hands again, the man finally looks him in the eye. Wilbur’s eyes lock onto his soulless brown ones and Wilbur wants to scream. The man seated across from him has his face. He drops his mug. The piping hot tea soaks into his jeans as Wilbur jumps in his seat and shouts.

“Ah! Shit, shit, shit, shit- _Christ_ , that is hot, holy hell!”

The other man laughs. It wasn’t really a laugh of joy or pity, it was dripping with insanity and savageness. Wilbur slowly sinks back down into his seat as the man doubles over, tea sloshing over his mug and spilling onto his pants. But he doesn’t seem to care.

“Are you… alright?” Wilbur asks hesitantly as his eyes follow the faint steam twisting in the air. 

The other Wilbur finally stops laughing and as he dabs at the corners of his eyes with his knuckle, his gaze latches back onto Wilbur’s. He doesn’t move, his mouth curling into a lazy, calculating smirk.

“Oh, I’m just splendid,” he says coolly. “You see, unlike you, I welcome the warmth.”

Wilbur shivers despite the burning spilt tea on his trousers. The other Wilbur was unnerving to look at, the emptiness in his eyes and voice reverberating around Wilbur’s skull; it made him want to gouge his eyes out.

“Who-” Wilbur swallows dryly “-Who are you?”

Other Wilbur’s smirk doesn’t waver as he answers. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he tosses one long leg over the other and sips what’s left of his spilt tea. “I’m you.”

Wilbur shakes his head quickly. His hands start to shake as he balls them into fists, he doesn’t want whatever the thing across from him is to recognize that he’s scared.

“I’m sorry but I don’t think that’s possible,” he says nervously. “There can only be one of me, and I mean- that’s who I am, isn’t it?” 

Wrong answer. The other Wilbur smiles as he leans forward and sets his mug down with a harsh _clank_. His fingers lace together in front of his face, fingerless gloves obscuring the rest of his pale hands and wrists.

“Unfortunately, no,” he says. “I must say, your lack of self-awareness is deeply troubling.”

Wilbur wants to throw up. He hates seeing this man use and contort his face in ways he never wished to do. He wants to ask Other Wilbur a question but he’s so afraid of the answer, he’d rather spill another mug of tea on his crotch.

“You are just full of questions, aren’t you?” Other Wilbur says. “You don’t hide it very well.”

Wilbur gulps. “Who are you?”

The other Wilbur rolls his eyes. “You already asked me that and I already gave you an answer; _I am you._ ”

Wilbur shifts uncomfortably. “See, now- that doesn’t make any sense. Because, I’m already me and therefore, you can’t be-”

“Yes, yes,” Other Wilbur interrupts, waving his hand dismissively. “We had this conversation not even thirty seconds ago, Wilbur, do try to keep up.”

Wilbur closes his mouth. He’s not getting anything out of this conversation and this bastardized version of himself is starting to piss him off.

“Alright then, where am I? What are you here for?”

Other Wilbur’s face lights up and he claps his hands, a condescending round of applause. He leans back in his chair, grinning as he speaks.

“Good lad, now we’re getting somewhere! You may call me Vilbur, by the way, if it will make things easier for your brain to comprehend.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions,” Wilbur shoots back. Vilbur’s eyes light up despite the emptiness behind them.

“Oh, getting all pissy now, are we? No matter, I suppose I’ve had you on the ropes long enough.”

Wilbur leans back. He feels accomplished, he got Vilbur to talk, although it was just his name, _he_ controlled the conversation for more than seven seconds.

“Don’t go getting a big head, now,” Vilbur warns. “Unchecked pride is not a good look on you.”

“Tell me what you’re here for,” Wilbur dismisses, anxiously ignoring the fact that Vilbur seemed to know what he was thinking.

Vilbur puts both hands up in a surrender position. “Alright, alright. Your first question isn’t the most creative, however, I can give you an easy answer.”

Wilbur leans forward earnestly, nodding his head as Vilbur’s hands move through the air as he speaks. His pale hands aren’t quite translucent, but fading at his fingertips. Wilbur stares.

“You, my good sir,” Vilbur says and Wilbur’s focus is broken. “Are in the Limbo.”

Wilbur blinks.

“You’re a fucking idiot, aren’t you?” Vilbur groans. “The Limbo is like the Inbetween, a place after life but before death.” 

Wilbur stays silent, the gears in his head turning as his mind races a million kilometers a second. 

“Does this mean I’m dead?” he whispers quietly. He sounds like he’s on the verge of crying, his voice breaking at the end of his sentence. Vilbur freezes.

“Well no, not yet,” he says bewildered. His eyes soften for a brief moment as he speaks. “Like I said, you’re in the spot between life and death.”

Wilbur looks up, brows furrowed in concern. “How long has it been since I’ve been… gone?”

Vilbur’s vulnerability was an act. His mouth curls in disgust. “That was your third question. Time doesn’t exist here.” 

Wilbur’s stomach twists as he rolls his eyes.

“Big deal,” he scoffs. “You didn’t even answer the second one.”

Vilbur smiles. “Touché,” he waves a hand and the table in front of them disappears. “However, the answer to that one isn’t as simple.”

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

Vilbur exhales, long and winding. “Yeah. I’m here because you need to admit something.”

“Admit what?”

“Do you even know what you did?”

Wilbur is plunged into silence. Vilbur ignored his question about admitting what he did but that doesn’t phase him. He’s worried. He’s worried because he can’t remember. The life he had before he woke up in the Limbo is slipping through his fingertips like grains of sand in an hourglass. He remains silent as Vilbur scoffs.

“Unbelievable.”

“W- well, can’t you just tell me?” Wilbur pleads. “Come on, man, you obviously know what I did!”

Vilbur’s eyes narrow. “How about I just show you?”

He stands up and folds his hands behind his back as the chairs fade away. Wilbur looks up from his spot on the ground at this other version of him. Vilbur glances down at him.

“Stand up,” he commands. “You’re going to want to see this.”

As Wilbur pulls himself up, the Limbo changes, warping from a plane of grey to grassy hills and blue sky. Wilbur stands beside Vilbur atop a hill looking down on a city in good spirits, a group of people sit in rows of chairs as they watch a small figure speak at a podium.

“What is this place?” Wilbur asks quietly.

“Quiet,” Vilbur snaps. “We haven’t even got to the good part yet.”

The two men watch as the speaker is interrupted by a faint boom resonating throughout the valley. The crowd panics, everybody scattering in different directions. Wilbur watches in horror as the ground upends, craters blowing out below the stadium. He feels like he’s going to be sick as he watches a young boy in red launch himself towards the podium, arms outstretched as he reaches for the speaker.

“Oh God, are those _kids_?” Wilbur asks, turning to Vilbur. He didn’t hear him, his eyes wide with excitement as a cruel, crazed grin stretches across his face. His fists are clenched at his side as he silently cheers. Smoke and ashes billow into the sky like a balloon drifting alone in the wind.

“Watch,” Vilbur says, voice shaking in anticipation. “Wait for the smoke to clear.”

“Shouldn’t we help these people?” Wilbur asks, stepping forward. Vilbur’s arm reaches out and slings across Wilbur’s middle. Wilbur stops and looks to his clone. Vilbur’s eyes have lost their spark as he stares sternly at Wilbur and shakes his head.

“Just watch.”

Helpless, Wilbur stands back and waits for the dust to settle. Through the smoke, he sees two figures standing amongst the rubble. One of them stands taller than the other, arms outstretched as he gestures to the damaged land around him. His familiar stature is complemented by the trench coat that flutters in the slight breeze; dark brown curls pinned carefully to his forehead by a slouching grey beanie. 

“You recognize him, Wilbur?” Vilbur asks, his voice hitching at the end of his question.

And oh, is the man amongst the rubble so very recognizable. His stomach twists.

“Is that you?” Wilbur chokes out. 

Vilbur’s crazed animalistic grin returns as he places a firm hand on Wilbur’s shoulder and squeezes. “No, that’s _us_.”

__________________

Wilbur falls to his knees as the ashy sky begins to spin. He feels sick as Vilbur chuckles beside him and waves his hand, the rubble and grassy hills disappearing like a twisted mirage in a vast grey desert. 

“Now you see, don’t you?” Vilbur asks cruelly.

Wilbur shakes his head as he doubles over. Bile rises in his throat and it burns as he turns away from his clone’s looming shadow. Vilbur cringes in disgust as Wilbur retches. He wipes his mouth before speaking.

“You’re a monster,” Wilbur whispers, voice trembling. “You nearly killed those kids.”

Vilbur smiles and shakes his head. 

“No, you don’t seem to understand, Wilbur,” he says, taking slow, calculating steps around Wilbur. “ _We are the same person_. _You_ almost killed those kids. _You_ are a monster.”

Wilbur opens his mouth but Vilbur continues speaking.

“I am your sanity, cracked and split right down the middle,” he says. “I am part of you; therefore, everything I’ve done, _you_ have commanded.”

Wilbur wants to scream. He wants to pick himself up and throw himself at Vilbur but he can’t seem to muster the strength. Vilbur chuckles as he watches Wilbur shake on his hands and knees.

“You’re pathetic,” he spits. 

“Shut the fuck up,” Wilbur snarls. 

Vilbur must have waved his hand again as a mirror appears before Wilbur. He squeezes his eyes shut and keeps his head down, afraid of what will stare back at him if he looks.

Powerful, heavy footsteps get louder as Vilbur comes towards him slowly. A boot hits his back and Wilbur groans as he falls beneath its weight, splayed out on the freezing grey floor. A half-gloved hand finds its way into his curls and grips his hair in a cold fist. Wilbur grunts as Vilbur pulls his head back harshly.

“Look at yourself,” Vilbur growls. “Come on, let’s see those pretty brown eyes of yours.”

Wilbur grits his teeth and tries to turn his head away. It’s to no avail as Vilbur’s other hand grabs Wilbur’s jaw and forcefully turns his head towards the mirror. He opens his eyes and he wants to scream as tears run down his cheeks.

He watches as Vilbur’s manic grin warps onto his face, his hair grows longer and shaggier. A slouching, grey beanie slowly appears as Wilbur’s curls are pushed into his soulless eyes. His beige sweater is gone, replaced with a trench coat as ripped and mangled as his sanity. Vilbur’s silhouette morphs into his own and as they become one, Wilbur whispers something hoarsely.

“I’m a monster.”

Vilbur smiles. “Bingo.”

Vilbur lets go and Wilbur’s head drops to the floor. Tears slide down his cheeks as Wilbur sobs quietly at Vilbur’s feet. The other man ignores his crying as he dusts himself off, a faux show of pride.

“Now that that’s out of the way,” he says, walking towards a small portal that’s opened nearby. “I’ll be taking my leave! Goodbye, _Vilbur_!”

With a two finger salute, Wilbur’s sadistic clone disappears, the swirling portal snapping shut with a harsh _clank_.

**Author's Note:**

> ryles here!
> 
> just a silly little wilbur vs vilbur fic so i hope y'all enjoyed :) as always, kudos and kind comments are so greatly appreciated! follow me on twitter for more mcyt content (@ARGB00) and tysm for reading! <3


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